


SSD: Robin's POV

by audreyslove



Series: Signed Sealed Delivered [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 04:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13539309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyslove/pseuds/audreyslove
Summary: A retelling of the year Regina and Robin were apart from Robin's POV





	SSD: Robin's POV

The moment he sees that car, parked precariously, unforgivingly in front of their driveway, he knows they are in for a fight.

It has been a lovely holiday until now. His morning had started off with Regina stroking him gently with her hand, kissing and nibling his ear and whispering  _ Happy Thanksgiving  _ in that sultry, sexy tone. It is  _ their  _ day, afterall. They had met on Thanksgiving, and he'd proposed to her years later on the same holiday. It was like their own Valentine's Day, and the smell of roasted turkey and herby, sage soaked potatoes, and sweet, cinnamon pumpkin spice would always remind him of falling in love with Regina.

His hands had wandered over her naked body (he thinks she slept with clothes on, and he loves the thought of her having woken up and quietly removed her clothes just so she could seduce him), tracing over curves, squeezing every delicious swell. It's been a decade, a solid ten years of a very active and very creative sex for them, yet she never seems bored, still responds to his touch,still gasps and cries out when he flicks his tongue against her nipple just so, still rocks her body desperately against his mouth when he's between her legs, still grips and pulls at his hair when she's close to release. And sometimes, even with a young, soon-be-very-awake toddler, Regina will even let out those soft curses, whispering these tantalizing things under her breath...

" _ I want you," she rasps, her voice hoarse, from sleep, maybe, but she's just come down from a rather intense orgasm, one that he thinks, ordinarily, would have her shouting until her voice was thick and gravelly, like this. Instead she bites into a pillow, grunts and whines as he eats her, two fingers pumping just the way she likes until she begins to flutter around his fingers, until he feels the muscle spasms contracting around him, and looks up at her and sees that little satisfied smile he absolutely adores. _

_ But she wants him again, and he won't deny her. He makes quick work of positioning himself over her, grabbing his cock and thrusting it inside her. She's had an unusually long orgasm, is still pulsing from it, those delicious little aftershocks she has that he loves to feel, but it catches him off guard a bit, has him moaning a bit earlier than is probably acceptable. _

_ He searches her eyes for approval, because if she's still coming down, it's likely she's hyper sensitive, and perhaps she needs a moment. But she just grabs a palm full of his ass with each hand and whispers "I need you to fuck me so bad, Robin." _

_ And then he's thrusting in her hard and fast while she shakes underneath him, barely down from one peak until she's steadily climbing a second, soft sighs turning into deep groans. _

" _ Love your cock," she gasps, at that moment where she's close enough to lose all sense of propriety. "Feels so good." _

" _ Yeah?" he moans back, "You going to — oh fuck, love — come for me again?" _

_ She nods, biting her lip as she rocks into him harder, "Close", she whines, "so close." _

_ He can only moan in response, because she's wet, so wet, and tight, and warm, and he can feel her starting to twitch just a bit, legs starting to quake, fingernails digging into his back, holding him there. _

" _ God you really needed this," he groans. _

_ It's not that so much time has passed since their last moment, it's only been four days — by married people standards, their sex life is absurdly active. But he flirted with her heavily yesterday, knowing it would make this moment — their little Thanksgiving ritual — even sweeter. He had kissed her yesterday, when she stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped tightly around her body as she'd scurried to the closet to gather clothes to change into, hair still shedding droplets of warm water. And then he had taken her in his arms, letting his fingers coast up and down her shoulders, before unwrapping that bloody towel, letting out a loud, sinful moan as he did so. _

" _ You're wet," he had teased, "Let me dry you off." _

_ He'd used the towel to dry her glistening, wet skin, was gentle and soothing as he rubbed each inch of her, enough to have been stimulating. And based on how she had gasped and sighed, it had worked. But they didn't have time yesterday to do anything about it, to exchange anything other than slight kisses and cute texts. That evening, as she prepared the sides to bring to Mary Margaret's the next day, he gave her ass a subtle squeeze, traded light kisses and hugs, but by the time she had finished in the kitchen, she had collapsed next to him, exhausted and begging for sleep. _

_ Thus the need to satisfy each other this morning. _

" _ Mmm, need it so badly," she confirms, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Gonna come so hard on your cock — mm—- just like that, please, iIm, I'm gonna—" _

_ He feels the way her walls pulse and tighten around him in different places, a haphazard, untempered rhythm that he loves. Her face screws into that beautiful look of ecstasy, the sight of it overpowering. _

_ He keeps at it, closer now, riding out her orgasm, and as the last soft quakes leave her body, she smiles and lifts her head up to whisper in his ear, "I want you to come in my mouth." _

_ It's rare that she says something like that, particularly after an orgasm, but the sound of the request is pure heaven to him, so for once, Robin doesn't loath the thought of unsheathing from her when he's this close. He rolls over onto his back, and lets her lead. Regina scoots down between his legs, flashing him a devilish look before she leans in and licks the tip of him, moaning deliciously. _

_ She takes him in deep, swallowing all of him. When he cannot help but buck his hips at a particularly incredible movement of her tongue, she hums her approval, letting him thrust deep into her mouth. _

_ He can't control himself after that, and as much as he would like to draw it out, he can't, she's too amazing with her mouth, and when the humming sound she makes vibrates around him, Robin doesn't last more than a few strokes. He spills down her throat, and it feels so good, and each swallow as he comes just intensifies the shivering, hot, overwhelming pleasure. _

_ She collapses next to him with that satisfied smile, cuddling into him and pressing a kiss on his chest, and chuckling lightly at his struggle to catch his breath. _

" _ I love you," she whispers. _

_ He doesn't say it back. He's sleepy and they both want to drift off for a few moments before Roland wakes. She knows how he feels, anyway. _

When he looks back over this morning, which he does often, he wishes he had lasted longer. Wishes he had delayed the pleasure of coming in her mouth just a bit.

Wishes most of all he had told her he loved her that one last time.

But then again, he didn't know this would be the last time he was with his wife in over a year.

.::.

The rest of Thanksgiving goes wonderfully. They are able to take a quick nap, shower together, and change before they need to wake up a very sleepy Roland, dress him in a comfortable, sharp looking sweater and button down shirt and shuffle off to the holiday feast.

It had all been grand, but it was a bit unseasonably cool, and it had gotten late, and now they have a sleeping toddler in their backseat. And that would not be a problem, if they had a place to park. But that god damned car has blocked their driveway, and they are off to find on-street parking at 10 PM on Thanksgiving.

And he knows what she's going to say about it, can feel the fight coursing and churning inside her. He grits his teeth and waits for her to say it. He won't be the one to bring it up first.

"Just take this spot," she grimaces from the seat next to him.

"I can find something closer," Robin assures, because they are eight blocks from home, it's freezing out, and Roland is sleeping, and there's a trunk full of leftovers to take home, too, and it's not that bad, they can find a closer place to park, it's not that bad, he always finds a —

"I don't want to spend another 25 minutes finding a place two blocks closer. Just park here."

And well, fine. He sighs, and parks. The moment he gets out of the car he realizes it was a mistake. He should have driven her to the door, told her to get out, and let him park.

Unfortunately she already has a sleeping toddler in her arms, wobbling on frozen ground in precarious heels, and he has a bag of leftovers and a diaper bag slung over his arm when he realizes this mistake.

On the third block they see some college kids huddled together on the corner. They rush away when they see Regina and Robin approaching, but the smell of their smoke wafts into his nose, and he cringes. Marijuana. What perfect timing.

He sees her slip just then and rushes to steady her with his hand. "Careful, love." he whispers.

She shoots him back an angry glare. Yet, her voice is calm and steady when she says "Thank you, Robin."

This is for Roland's benefit — even though he's sleeping, she won't ever fight with Robin if that little boy could possibly overhear. There are things that she's lived through that he knows she doesn't like to speak of, he knows that. She's shared many of them little by little, handing over small pieces to the puzzle that is her past. And this rule — the always being respectful and sweet to one another in front of Roland rule — this one opened a door to a sea of insecurities and painful childhood memories. So as much as he wants to shout at her to just get it over with and speak her peace, he won't say a word.

She's right. Roland comes first.

On the fifth block he wakes up with a little cry and a whine of  _ Momma, I'm cold _ and she hands him mittens, clings tightly to him, and soothes  _ Just a few more blocks, baby. _

They walk together, comforting Roland, continuing to do so until he's in bed and soundly asleep.

Robin walks down the stairs to see Regina putting away leftovers. But she's put a pot of coffee on, and yes, there will be a talk. It's the moment he's been dreading.

"Robin, we  _ have  _ to move." She says, calmly, but her voice is on the edge of anger and frustration. She's ready to fight for this, and it's a shame, because this is a topic where he feels quite strongly, too.

"One idiot blocks the driveway and suddenly this is an uninhabitable living environment," he groans, "be more dramatic."

"It's not just that and you know it." Regina says, an eyebrow raised, "Roland has no space here, he has no backyard. The neighborhood is changing, it's not for children anymore—"

"Oh, come on. Some college kids are smoking pot, it's hardly a fucking gang territory. And you know how rare it is for that to happen, anyway." He points out.

"Why can't we just move to where Roland has a yard, and —"

"He has a park," he argues, "one where a lot of children can play. I guess the children are ethnic, and from different income levels, and maybe  _ that  _ is a problem for you, but…" The words sound as bitter and sour as they taste.

"Don't give me that shit," Regina says with a roll of her eyes, "I don't have a problem with the other children, I have a problem with the fact that a group of college kids doesn't mesh well with families. They park in front of driveways. They smoke pot in parks and on the street, they are up late, they get noise complaints, and it's simply not a good environment for Roland."

"Oh please, this could be the perfect neighborhood and you'd want to move. I know what this is about, Regina. It's about moving him to a pretty little sheltered suburb like your mother would want, and then we could send him off to some prestigious preschool made for kings, or god knows what, and then before we know it he'll be 18 and have absolutely no idea what the real world is like."

"I want him to have his  _ best shot. _ " She argues again (this is a tired refrain). "Prep schools and nice homes are apart of that."

"Oh, I'm familiar with that argument," Robin scoffs. "It is the exact one my father made to get my mother to agree to shipping me off to England, and we all know how  _ that  _ turned out. You act like I've been in public school in America my whole life, you forget I'm familiar with this world you are so enchanted with. Yes, the prep school and the royal fucking neighborhood, that was worth all the pain and abuse I had to suffer, right? I should appreciate those years more than the years I spent free from all of that?"

"You had a rough time because your father was a mean, abusive addict, your living and school situation had nothing to do with it. In fact I'm betting it was the only bright spot," Regina points out, "Roland shouldn't have the same experience as you unless you are worried you are going to wake up and become Robert."

Robin's teeth clench, hands form into fists, how  _ dare  _ she imply that he could ever become his horrible father? "The point is if it hadn't have been for this shotty prep school nonsense, I would have been spared from all of that pain, sure we had little money and the school I attended didn't have skiing vacations or spring break trips to Paris, but my life when I was removed from that world was so  _ much  _ better."

"And think of how much better it would be if you had proper education  _ and  _ a stable family," she shoots back. "Let's not blame our fucked up childhoods on the one thing our parents did  _ right." _

He's angry, annoyed and just  _ done _ with this conversation. He's not losing this argument, though, not when the idea of Roland in school with snobby, uptight entitled brats physically revolts him.

"I'm not going to cave on this, Regina," Robin says sternly, "this is it. We stay in the city. We're not bubble wrapping our child in suburban bullshit."

"You cannot just put your foot down on this issue and refuse to hear any reason," Regina argues, "I'm not caving either, and I know very well where staying in this environment will lead, and you do as well. I'm not about to apologize for protecting Roland from this—"

"God, is this Cora I'm speaking to? You know, I married  _ you  _ hoping you had learned enough from living with Cora to never turn into her, but from this light you are the spitting image. You're just a little spoiled brat who had everything handed to her and wants to do the same to our son. It didn't make you happy, Regina, and it won't make Roland happy either. You're just going to make him miserable."

He rushes towards her, yelling, encroaching just a bit in her face. He's gone too far, and he realizes it, because her face falls for a split second, shatters into a pained expression before the cloak of protectiveness goes back up, and her face settles into that blank, heartless expression.

"What are you going to do to me, Robin?" she asks. She's not scared, she's taunting him, pushing at that weak spot. "You just charged at me like a bull, your hands are in fists already. Speaking of people turning into their parents, god, you're one split second away from— "

"I would  _ never  _ hurt you and you know it!" he growls.

"I don't know that. I don't know anything anymore. Not when you've pushed into my space like this, I wonder if I have to worry about  _ you  _ with Roland."

"Fucking take it back," he orders, knowing what she's implying. This has officially gone too far. He had no idea how it got to here, how it went from zero to twenty, but they are stubborn, competitive people, and it seems they're now competing on who can hurt who the most.

"I can't," she says flatly, "Because I don't even recognize you. I don't know if I even trust you anymore, I don't know if I even  _ love  _ you anymore."

The words cut and gnaw at him, but he's stubborn and angry and not about to lose this battle. "I'm glad you finally said it," he snarls, "the woman I loved left a long time ago, and I have been trying to see her again, but I can't. I'm through pretending. I don't love you anymore, either."

There's a few seconds where he is eager to see pain in her eyes, hoping she hurts as badly as he is.

"Do you mean that?" she asks. Her voice doesn't falter, doesn't crack. She's not angry anymore, she's reached this eery calm state that can scare him at times.

"Yes," he answers, anger still coursing through his veins, vibrating through his nerves, buzzing and screaming for him to hide his wounds and strike back in full force.

She sighs and nods her head. "Me too." She gets out coffee mugs - one ceramic and one "to-go" cup with a lid. And then she pours them silently, adding cream and sugar, while he wonders what her next move is.

"Coffee just the way you like it." Regina seals the lid to the travel mug and hands it to him gingerly. "Consider it my parting gift to you. Now leave."

"What?" he asks, because another rule she had was they never leave each other in the middle of a fight, no going to bed angry, no running off in a rage

"These last few months have been so difficult, and you know why? Because we're living together but neither of us are in love anymore. And I know you're probably still here because you think it's best for Roland. But I've lived that, and it can actually be worse, Robin. It's easier for Roland and for us both if we just move on."

He's bitter and he's angry and behaving like a childish moron when he mutters, "If you hate this house so much, why aren't  _ you _ the one leaving?"He doesn't quite intend her to hear, but when he looks up, it's clear she has anyway. And she looks...well, hurt, and a bit tense. "Regina…"

"You're right," she says, dismissing his half-hearted apology with a wave of her hand, "I should be the one to leave. But I'm the one who gets Roland ready every morning, and I thought I should be with him now. Plus, you work tomorrow and I'm home with Roland, so it seemed easier. But it's fine, I can wake him up now and—"

"No, don't," he grumbles, "you're right. I'll leave."

She doesn't try to stop him, not even when he gathers an overnight bag and a garment bag and places a generous amount of clothing in there. He's waiting for her to cave, to realize he's serious about this, to tell him she didn't mean it, to apologize and take him back. But she doesn't do anything but pop an Excedrin and draw herself a bath.

How the fuck did it get like this?

He waits for her to call the entire drive to Killian's. He waits up for her call while he and Killian watch  _ Die Hard _ and drink beer.

He's waiting for her to call and tell him to come home until the sun comes up.

Regina never calls. Instead she sends a text with a very fair, evenly split custody arrangement for Roland. Oh, he wishes it were vindictive, just a bit petty, he wishes, then he could say she wrote it in anger, that things would blow over.

But it's perfectly civil.

And when he reads the text, he realizes that maybe this wasn't just a fight filled with angry words she didn't mean.

.

.::.

She gives him ten days. Ten days before she's walking through Killian's front door and smacking him on the head before grabbing his phone from the table and handing it to him.

"Call her and apologize," Emma orders. "Now. You two are being idiots."

"Do you know what she said to me?" Robin asked, "Because an apology isn't going to fix things, and I'm not the only one who owes an apology here."

"Yeah, I know, Regina gave me the blow-by-blow."

Robin rolls his eyes, "I'm sure it was very biased against me. Trying to turn my own sister against me, I swear…."

"She can't lie to me, you jackass. And she'd never do that. I don't know how you somehow forgot what type of person she is, but Regina isn't going to try to turn family against family. She was completely honest. Call her."

"What good will an apology do? She doesn't love me."

"Sure she does."

"Did she tell you that? Because she told me otherwise. In words and in action."

Emma inhales sharply and and purses her lips. She's losing her patience with him, he knows. "She didn't exactly tell me that she loves you in those  _ words, _ but…"

"I know you think you know Regina better, but she's my  _ wife _ . She let it slip, she doesn't love—"

"Call her. This whole thing is ridiculous. You two are stupid in love with one another and you damn well know it." He shakes his head in silent refusal til she adds, "If not for you, for Roland's sake. I know he's young, but kids are perceptive. If you guys are both still angry at one another, he's going to pick up on it. No matter how much you pretend to be okay."

And well, she has a point. So he picks up the phone and dials.

Regina answers with a certain amount of wariness, as if she's not sure what to expect. It kills him, for a second, that she doesn't sound glad to hear from him, that her voice is filled with suspicion and discomfort.

"Regina…" he breathes, "I,uh, I wanted to tell you, despite what I said, I do trust you with Roland, I don't think you are a bad mum," he starts off, determined to apologize and correct everything that he said that was wrong, bit by bit.

"I figured," she says matter of factly, "when you didn't protest the custody arrangement I assumed you had decided I could be trusted to be alone with him." She pauses for a beat, and then adds a wary, "Obviously I trust you, too. We still have to raise Roland together. We need to at least trust one another to always have his best interest at heart and to take good care of him, even if that's the only thing we trust each other for anymore." She says the last words a bit over a whisper, a confession.

All his muscles relax, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. "And Regina, and about us—"

"I'm not interested in talking about us," she says, her voice suddenly clipped and abrupt. "Sorry, I just want to focus on Roland right now. And I'm looking at apartments. I'll move out as soon as I can."

"No, no stay there," he nearly shouts, and he  _ wants  _ to tell her she should stay because it's her home and he wants her comfortable, because he loves her to death and he won't have her leaving all that they built just because he is set on destroying it. He wants her to stay because then it will seem so  _ final _ , and he's not ready for them to be over.

He wants to say all of this, but he's hurt and angry and protecting himself from her pity, from having to hear that he has to move on, because she has. Truth be told, he's livid at her at the moment, for not even giving him a chance to breathe life into their relationship. For not even being willing to discuss this like  _ mature adults _ . So he adds, "I can stay with Killian. You don't have any friends willing to put you and Roland up, after all. I have plenty of options between my friends and  _ my family _ . It is cheaper to just do this."

He hears her startled breath of air, and then "I don't know if a dig about my lack of friends was necessary," she sighs.

"I didn't mean it that way," he offers, but they both know it's a lie, so it's not any surprise when he adds, "but it is the truth, isn't it?"

"Right. Well. Obviously this is for the best," she sighs, "we can't even have a simple conversation."

"Regina, I—"

"Don't. I am done fighting with you, Robin." Her tone is at that warning level, and if he pushes too hard, she's going to blow up. "Thank you for letting me stay in the house for the time being. We obviously need to work out something more permanent, but I'm not ready to discuss it now, definitely not on the phone. I want to keep this... civil. For Roland. But maybe for a while I am just going to have to insist we keep communication through texts. Roland will be up from his nap soon. Goodbye, Robin."

"But Regina—"

The phone line goes dead. He looks at Emma, and does a double take when he sees how angry she is.

"What the fuck was that?" She asks, smacking his head again. She catches his ear, and he winces in pain, frowning back at her.

"She won't even let me talk to her about us," he defends, jaw locked defiantly. "Don't blame me, blame  _ her." _

Emma scowls and shakes her head. "You were being an ass. All you had to do was start the conversation with a  _ Regina, I still love you.  _ Instead you remind her how alone she is in this thing. She feels she can't talk to me or Mary Margaret about it, because we are  _ your  _  sisters, and—"

"She can't," Robin insists, "You are my sister. If she wanted to continue to trash boyfriends and spouses with you she should have married someone else."

"Oh, she can fucking bitch to me about you all she wants," Emma bites back. "Actually, right now I would  _ love  _ a bitch session about you, I probably have more to complain about than she ever would. Thing is, Robin, she won't do it. She's feeling alone and worried she's going to lose me and Mary Margaret, and you practically taunted her about it."

"She broke my heart," he responds, scowling angrily.

"Well, maybe your heart deserves to get broken," Emma responds. "Because you know Regina as well as I do—" he raises a finger to protest, and to settle his complaint she adds "maybe better, fine. You know how undeserving of love she thinks she is. You know how she's always battling that feeling of inadequacy. You took it too far. And you didn't even mean it. I can tell you didn't."

"She's not going to listen to me," he sighs, "she's angry. She will think anything out of my mouth is a lie."

"But you want to work on this?"

"Yes," he admits, with a groan, "of course I do, she's the mother of my child. She's…" He frowns, searching for the right words to say. "I want her to come back because she wants to, not because of Roland, or because she thinks she owes it to me. I want her to want me. I want her to love me. And I want to be sure…"

"Then give her some space. Let her cool down. Let her know you love her. Seriously, Robin. She needs to hear it. Swallow your pride and say it. She's gonna make her way back to you. She just needs to know she's welcome."

He takes a deep breath and blows out air. "I fucked up. I just— I get so angry, and I lose sight of—"

"I know, Robin, I know. You just need to take a breather too. You can't lash out, or you're going to lose her."

His sister's blunt words knock the breath out of him, has him fighting back tears. But all he can say is a simple "Shit."

"Give it time. You can still fix this."

Emma leaves the apartment with a promise that  _ this  _ will be her last interference with their love life. It's not, but she tries.

The next few weeks are miserable. They trade pictures of their son every night, but she ignores any attempt at friendly conversation. He does what he can, pays her little compliments, texts her what Roland has done that reminds him of her, thanks her for being a wonderful mother, asks if he can help shovel the walk and driveway when it snows...anything just to hear back from her. He feels so far away from her, all he wants is to somehow make her happy. So when she asks for Roland for Christmas, he tells her to do whatever she wants, whatever will make her happy.

She's terribly thankful to him. Her words cut like knives to the heart, and he holds out hope she will change her mind last minute and return to him, show up at Mary Margaret's and kiss him, and hug him, and tell him they can forget the nightmare of the past month.

But on Christmas Eve he gets a picture of her mother's Christmas tree, and a smiling Roland under it, and he can entertain those fantasies no longer.

He remembers Emma's advice too late. But he has nothing to lose. He texts her something simple that evening.

_ I know this last month has been awful, Regina, and we've hurt each other. But god, I love you. I will always love you. Please know that. _

He passes out, the emotion of the day draining the life out of him in a way he couldn't imagine. and wakes up to her new texts — pictures of roland on Christmas morning, pictures that make his chest constrict because his son is opening presents and he's not there to share it. He sees her simple  _ I'll always love you too, Robin  _  and he hopes it means Emma is right, and she will find her way back to him.

But when she reveals she still has plans to spend New Year's Day up with her insufferable mother, he believes it's finally over. And the holidays are merry and bright but when you are without the people you love they are miserable, dull and bland, and all you want to do is drink like the other wounded souls trying to make it through the night.

And that's how he finds Marian at a bar on December 26th, revealing they once again have something in common.

Heartbreak.

Oh, her situation is bad. Keith hit her, he  _ beat  _ her, bruised her body, and Robin wants to kill him. He's fairly certain Killian and John would at least be up for taking a baseball bat to the guy's knees. Marian and Robin were only briefly in love, but she is a wonderful person, through and through, and the fact that anyone would take advantage of her belief in the goodness in everyone, well, it angers him to no end.

Marian is upset at herself, because she still loves him. It's pathetic, she says, she still feels  _ his  _ even though she shouldn't. She hates it.

Robin opens up about Regina, then.

"I wanted to believe she was just angry, that it would blow over, but she's gone, won't even answer the phone when I call, and I just…"

"You still love her, too," Marian observes, sipping her whiskey slowly.

"Of course I do," he sighs, "told her so two days ago. In a text. And she texted me back an emotionless  _ I love you _ , but nothing changed. I lost her."

"Maybe not," Marian frowns. "Your problems are not real problems." She must hear how condescending that sounds, because she snickers into her drink. Robin cracks a smile for the first time in forever. "I mean, I'm getting slugged in the eye, and defending myself with mixing bowls and spatulas," she reminds, a call back to the horrifying story she had shared earlier about a fight she had with Keith in their kitchen, "Everything seems fixable by comparison."

It feels good for her to laugh about it, she says, she needs to, so he laughs with her.

"What are you doing for New Year's Eve?" she asks, looking at him with daring, bold eyes. "Want to go to the 'Swinging Singles' event? it promises to be as depressing as it is festive." She wags her eyebrows, shrugging at him as if to say  _ Come on, why not? _

"I don't think I'm ready for that," he admits. "I have no desire to even think about another woman."

"But the alternative is spending New Year's with couples that will only remind us of what we lost. And spending it alone and sad, which… I don't know about you, but after Christmas, I really can't bear the thought of another holiday moping around, wallowing in loneliness."

The uncertainty must show through his face, he supposes, because he hears her assuring him, "This isn't about hooking up with some drunken recent graduate, it's just about forcing each other out. It feels good to smile, I haven't done a lot of that lately, Robin."

He hasn't either. So he agrees.

.::.

New Year's Day's sunlight hits him like a sledgehammer. It hurts, physically hurts, the light in this room, shining through curtains that do little to darken anything. Not like the curtains in his  _ home _ . Or former home.

He turns and sees Marian, bare and sleeping soundly beside him. She's on top of covers, laying on her stomach, ass upright and on display. There was a time when he would knead and grope and kiss it, where he'd wake her and want to take her just like that.

But now he desperately looks for something to cover her. She's sleeping on top of the comforter and sheets (he's underneath them, somehow) but there's a small blanket at the foot of the bed that isn't trapped under her. So he grabs at it and awkwardly drapes it over her body, desperate to cover her up, because he is feeling so sick, so disgusted at the sight of her, and it's not because of her, no, that's not what has him nearly vomiting on the floor. It's partially all they drank last night, but no, that's not it either.

He's sick because he realizes that last night wasn't a nightmare. It happened. It's all a bit of a blur but it's coming back to him. And he doesn't want to wake Marian, but this is the moment, right here, the moment where he feels a month's worth of withheld emotion bubbling to surface.

He's done being angry, done denying that things are  _ really  _ over, and well, he just did something self destructive and stupid last night, and the self loathing and depression is settling in, pumping through his blood like heroin, and he's struggling not to scream and cry as memories of last night go through his mind.

" _ I got you two more drinks from the open bar!" Marian says, her voice trying to mimic excitement, trying to be cheery, but she's as miserable as he is, he can tell. _

" _ Not so sure this is helping," he mutters, "I'm just not in a good mood, Marian. I'm so sorry. I'm terrible company." _

" _ Well, we paid for open bar so whether it's helping or not, we are getting our money's worth," she warns. "Come on, give this an honest chance. I look cute and the bartender is giving me strong pours. Here." _

_ It's a double Jack and coke, not his style, but it'll do. It's strong as shit — Marian was right. He smiles at her as he sips. "Strong indeed." _

" _ Told ya," she says with a forced smile. _

" _ So feeling a love connection with this bartender?" Robin asks, grateful to give his mind a distraction from Regina and Roland. _

_ Marian shakes her head and makes a face. "No, no, no…". She takes a deep breath in, and sips her own drink (7 and 7, a horrid thing, but very Marian). "He's nice, seems to like me, and I want to, Robin, I just want to do this, I should. I owe Keith nothing. And yet... it just feels… wrong." _

There are more flashes, drinks with her, meeting another group of singles, taking shots, seeing Mariah hit it off with a good looking fellow, a perfect goodnight kiss companion. Robin himself chatting with a guy and three girls, fretting about whether he will be expected to kiss them at midnight and hoping he won't. He remembers the way his tongue is already swollen and numb from the over indulgence in sweet cheap drinks. God, he was so far gone, he wouldn't wish himself on his worst enemy.

Then he remembers that a few minutes before midnight, Marian found her way back to him.

" _ What happened to mister Three Piece Suit?" he slurs with a wink. She shrugs and leans into him and confesses something that breaks his heart. _

_ She whispers, "Keith fucked me up, I can't get close to anyone. He won." _

_ She tries to shift into the conversation between the people Robin has been talking to, but frankly he doesn't want to be there anyway. So he excuses himself and places a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her somewhere they can talk. The far corner of the club. _

" _ Keith didn't win," he insists, his mind is addled but in that part he feels emphatic. "You just aren't ready. It'll come, Marian, it was a shit relationship but you have to grieve it, have to get over it." _

" _ He made me feel like he owned me," she explains, shaking from drink and anger. "Said he'd kill me if he saw me with another man, I told myself it was just his mood swings, thought there was good in him, I tried Robin, but now…" _

_ There are tears in her eyes, angry or sad or perhaps both, and she's so fucking honest right now he can't stand it. "I keep thinking that it's wrong to be with anyone but HIM. He did this to me." _

" _ You'll get past it, I swear," Robin assures. _

" _ I just want to…" she suddenly looks determined. "And even if I push through and tried to get past feeling like property, I'm fucking scared of men now. Me, Robin. Fuck." She looks disgusted with herself and he cannot think of what to say, so he draws her into a hug. _

" _ If it helps, I can't fucking think of anyone but Regina at the moment," he admits, "I think she sufficiently ruined me for anyone else." _

_ Marian chuckles bitterly, because it's different. But still, she says, "Please don't let me be the only sob story, tell me about it." _

_ He's suddenly angry, and she's urging him to speak his mind, so he does. He rants about how she stole his heart, broke it into pieces and doesn't even to seem to care that he's cracked and bleeding on the pavement, that he hates her (he doesn't, he loves her) for doing this to him after ten years, and he's mad, so mad, mad that he has to move on when moving on seems downright impossible. _

_ He's spewed out a right nice rant, and the confession somehow lightens him, makes himself feel as if a weight has lifted, now that he has someone to share the load of these painful bitter feelings of resentment. _

" _ I don't want to feel like this anymore," she breathes, looking in his eyes. _

" _ Me either," he admits. _

_ Marian nods. "I…" she strokes his cheek, and he thinks it's a comforting gesture, just a tender, soothing moment between friends. And maybe it was, but then the countdown starts. _

_ Their eyes lock. There's a countdown in the background and he imagines it being a countdown until a bomb explodes, until the world as he knows it ends, until he destroys himself. _

_ 10... 9… _

_ That hand on his cheek caresses gently, her thumb making slow, purposeful strokes. She looks into his eyes, determined. He doesn't look away. He should look away. _

_... 8... 7… _

_ Her free hand loops around his waist clumsily, and she shuffles close to him on unsteady feet, high heels not quite helping the situation. _

_... 6… 5… _

_ He inches closer in instinct to correct her staggering. A hand anchors itself on her hip, and his head dips down towards hers when she pulls him closer. _

_... 4... 3… _

_ Marian wets her lips and his eyes are instantly drawn to them. She's pretty enough, Marian is. No, she's more than that. Gorgeous, not what he craves, but that's a problem. If he can't be with someone like Marian, what hope does he have to ever be with anyone again? _

_... 2… _

_ He tightens the hand on her hip, drawing her closer. He feels her soft breath on his neck, she's right there, below him, he just needs to swoop in, and... _

_... 1! _

_ Amongst the symphony of noise makers and screams, amongst the hurricane of confetti and fallen balloons, in the sea of crowded drunken people, Robin shares his first kiss in a decade with a woman who isn't Regina. _

_ It's awful, and the fact that it's so terrible angers him. He wants Regina and he can't have her, and now he's destined to feel like this? No, fuck this, it can be good, he can pour his heartbreak and pain into a winning concoction, something good will come from this, it will. _

_ He and Marian keep kissing. It isn't romantic. It's predatory, she's attacking him, looks about as frustrated and angry as he feels. _

" _ Your place?" she asks. _

It's a blur after that. They keep trying to kiss, to make a spark, and it's all wrong. They make out in front of his apartment, too fiercely, they knock teeth, tongues dart oddly against one another, it's sloppy and awkward and he should have stopped.

Fuck, why didn't he stop?

_ She's naked against him, apparently he was too drunk to see her removing her clothes at all. She hasn't given him much time to get situated, and here she is, grabbing his cock and taking a condom out of her little clutch, when that dress of hers is still on. He's trying to get and stay hard, but there's so much alcohol and he's distracted by heartbreak. But he won't let her down, he won't, he is gonna try. _

" _ Take that dress off, gorgeous" he directs, sparing himself a few minutes. _

_ She does, he tries to focus on her curves, her beautiful body, he tries. _

_ It works well enough, she's on him and it's feels good. It's a good feeling, being inside her, in a physical sense, but it's also wrong, feels like being desperately thirsty for cold water only to be handed a cup of molasses instead. It's not working. And his mind is so conflicted. _

_ If he shuts his eyes he can make everything better. _

_ So he does. She's on top, moving her body up and down, her face melds into Regina's and suddenly fucking is easy and natural as ever. Even Marian notices the change, she no longer sounds frustrated and annoyed, little "oohs" and "ahhs" indicate she's enjoying this a bit. _

_ But in his mind it's Regina who is screaming for him, and he responds with grunts and moans, telling her how beautiful she is, how much he wants her, and he's gonna come _ .  _ She tells him to wait, orders him strongly, and she's shifting frantically on top of him, desperately trying to find a release, but she won't, he thinks, she's too anxious, too impatient. _

_ He shuts his eyes tighter and blocks out her hurried jerking movements and focuses on the fantasy in his mind, on what he needs to give her this. _

_ But it works too well, and before he knows it he passes the point of no return. _

" _ Fuck, Regina, darling, you feel so good, so fucking good, fucking Christ, so beautiful, so perfect... I'm gonna, I'm gonna, oh godddd Regina… _ "

_ He is mid orgasm when he realizes that he actually said that aloud, and it's sobering. His eyes open wide, and Marian is still moving on top of him, looking entirely unconcerned with his words. _

" _ Marian, I —" _

" _ It's fine," she sighs, flipping off of him naked, "I just wanted to… I wanted to feel..." _

_ He grimaced, because he's failed her in two ways, by imagining her as someone else and failing to get her off. He could try more, now. But frankly the thought of going down on her with the room spinning and his own self-loathing contributing to the nausea already sloshing in his stomach seems like a miserable idea. _

" _ I'm sorry…" he says, rubbing his hand over his head, "So, so sorry, Marian." _

" _ It's not your fault," she mutters, settling down next to him, her voice slurred and sleepy. "Too drunk. It wouldn't have happened…" she drifts off, and she's laying on her stomach, her face turned from him. He thinks she has fallen asleep for a second and then she adds in a sleepy, singsong voice, "You said her name but it doesn't matter. It's ok, Robin…" _

_ He presses a kiss to the back of her head and murmurs another apology. _

_ And that is the last memory he has of the night. _

He's laying awkwardly next to her, trying to get sleep, to just escape from this moment. But it's horrifying, he's awake and anxious. When Marian stirs, and moans, he's almost relieved. He just wants this over with.

She turns and wakes, eyes bleary and squinting. She sees him, registers his face, and then slaps a hand over her eyes and moans.

Robin agrees with the sentiment.

"Happy 2016," he says wryly, because what else can he say?

"God…" Marian says, and then again when she must remember something, "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry, Robin."

What?

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Marian, this was all me. I just…" he gives himself a moment, his stomach squirming and protesting. Shit, he might puke. "Sorry, it's no excuse, but the alcohol- god, did you have too much, did I—"

He doesn't want to even think about it, the fact the might have taken her without her consent terrifies him, and it's enough to have him swearing off drinking forever and driving to an electroshock therapy session because he'll be damned if he's his father in any way, but particularly, he won't be like him in  _ this  _ way.

"You didn't take advantage of me, I took advantage of you," Marian says, her voice groggy. "Trust me."

"I don't feel taken advantage of," he insists.

"I could tell you didn't want this," she mutters under her breath, adjusting the sheet on top of her, holding onto it for dear life, "I could tell, and I stopped caring. I just wanted to feel something... _not_ _him,_ and I dragged you into this, god, I'm so sorry Robin."

"Nothing to apologize for," he says again, because despite her words, he won't have her thinking she did anything wrong, this was  _ his  _ choice and  _ his  _ fault. "And if you used me for that, well, I used you too, and…"

"Don't feel sorry about that," Marian mutters. He knows she's speaking of the words he said, of the fact he thought of Regina during the sex. But somehow her waving it off doesn't help to make him feel any less guilty.

"You didn't deserve this. I'm a better man than this," Robin says sternly. In his heart he feels it, that this was an awful mistake and very uncharacteristic of him. He needs her to believe it.

"Can we pretend it never happened?" Marian asks. "It's just a bad moment for both of us, and it's... embarrassing for me. Can you promise me- look at me! Can you promise me to never, ever tell anyone about this?"

She's pleading, those soulful eyes staring into his heart.

He promises.

And after that's out of the way, it's actually not a terrible morning. He leaves the room to let her change per her request, lending her some sweats, socks and a pair of trainers that belonged to a girl Killian used to see. It spares her from wearing last night's dress and heels and looking like the very essence of a walk of shame, which helps him pretend that it never happened in the first place.

They share breakfast in the apartment while Marian opens up about Keith, and how she doesn't have a family to rely on, and feels very lonely. Robin will be damned if he's just another man in her life like her father or her soon-to-be-ex husband that will just hurt her and add to her stress, so he vows he will make this nightmare into something positive. He will be there for her to support and help her through this stage of her life. They speak about seeing a support group. She wants to go, but she's a bit scared, has never been great with new people at first. He mentions he's in the middle of a divorce and will fit right in, and they should go together. She says she likes that idea.

And then she leaves the apartment and Robin is left with nothing but his miserable thoughts.

He's not a crier. Not at all. But he's too nauseous to go running, or down to the gym and hit the heavy weight, and all that emotion is crippling his ability to think.

So there, that morning, he punches into his pillow, screams, and cries. Cries over how stupid he is, how much he misses his wife, how it's probably really over now. Even if he can win Regina back, even if he waits for her to come back tomorrow from Boston like she's supposed to, even if he grovels and begs and promises to send Roland to whatever school she desires and move to whatever neighborhood she'd like (god, he would do it, he doesn't fucking care, none of that really matters as long as she's in his arms), he'd have to tell her about  _ this _ , about the fact that he was with someone else. And not just any someone. An ex-girlfriend. And Regina won't forgive him for this.

It's over.

.::.

"I told her I loved her."

Emma is staring across the cafe from him, eyes skeptical and narrow. She's pissed, and blaming him, and he has no idea why. It's been a few days since the misery of New Year's, and since, for some reason, things between Regina and he had been worse instead of better.

Emma must know that, too, because she's very bluntly just asked him what he did to her. And well, the only thing he can think of is the fact he loved her.

"When?" Emma asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Christmas Eve." He pulls out his phone and opens his texts with Regina. He doesn't care, there's nothing sensitive, just some half-hearted flattering words he's sent in her direction, pictures of their son, little stories of things the other would appreciate pertaining to Roland, and the occasional warnings about possible bugs or rashes or bad mood swings. Nothing worth hiding.

"This doesn't make sense," Emma responds, scrolling through the texts, "she said she loved you, too. And then she was all…."

"Yes, she seemed a bit more upbeat. I guess it was just the holidays." He thinks of the generous pictures she had sent between Christmas and New Years, the way she let him know about their days, how she mentioned she had a present for  _ him _ , and then... well…

On January 2nd, he'd called in hopes of seeing Roland right away. He had never gone this long without seeing him, and he didn't want to wait until tomorrow's daycare to see him. She wouldn't answer the phone, and finally he broke back down to using texts.

In the end she had agreed, saying she was going to drop Roland off at Mary Margaret's and Robin could see him there. Robin offered to go by the house, but she wouldn't agree.

Her texts had turned cold, and she was evasive of every attempt he made to communicate with her. It had been... infuriating. He thought they were making progress.

"Whatever you did, it's not in these texts," Emma groans, "So what stupid things did you say on the phone lately?"

"Nothing, she won't even let me talk to her!" he insists, "And why is it my fault? Maybe she's just doing this because she bloody hates me, ever thought of that?"

"No," Emma responds bluntly. "She's hurt, I can tell. Plus she said she's sure you don't love her in that way anymore. I disagreed, and she just stared daggers into my skull. Something happened, and she won't tell me what."

He shrugs. He has no idea what got into her, but she's been horrible for the past two weeks. "You told me she'd find her way to me if I told her. She has no interest in me. She doesn't love me anymore, Emma. That's it."

She shakes her head, murmuring, "This doesn't make sense".

"Yeah, well…" he says bitterly, "I guess you don't know her as well as you think you do."

"Something happened in the last week. She was... a lot more receptive before she got back. I told her to call me when she got in from Boston. She did on Saturday and she was like... a different person. Refused to say what you did, but when I suggested she owed you a real conversation, she nearly bit my head off. Something had to happen."

It occurs to Robin there's a chance she could have heard about Marian, Regina has few friends, and it's unlikely she would have heard anything unless she saw something herself. Plus he's talked to Marian, and she confirmed that nobody she knew caught word of their little fling, and she told no one. So there's no way Regina could have known. Unless she was at that Singles Party on New Year's Eve.

"She got in on Saturday?" Robin asks. Saturday was January 2, all but ensuring that she didn't witness to the absolute mess that was New Year's Eve.

"Yep," Emma confirms, "Why are you asking?"

Robin shrugs. "I'm just trying to make sense of this. But the only thing that makes sense is that she doesn't love me."

He's not even angry at her anymore, he's not in denial of what this is, there's no room for any other emotion but pure misery. He looks at his sister in earnest and says. "It's really over, Emma. She doesn't want to even try to fix this."

And Emma can say nothing, can offer no words of encouragement or disagreement. Instead, she uncharacteristically pulls him into tight hug and tells him that it will be okay.

He'll get through this.

As awful as it seems.

.::.

She starts taking his calls on Martin Luther King Day. She's cold, and reserved, but they decide to split the day since they both have it off. And Regina had Roland for the weekend before, so she agrees to drop him off at Robin's around 2 P.M.

"I think we need to see a mediator, or a counselor," he says, the second she walks in the door.

"I don't."

"Regina…"

"Robin, not in front of Roland." The boy had run to the TV to watch Yo Yo Gabba, but he was still within earshot, and Robin knew she wouldn't stand for it.

"There's never any time when we're  _ not _ in front of Roland! I need to talk to you, please."

She nods, then, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "About what?"

He looks at her, confused. "About us. We are married, Regina, don't we owe it to ourselves and our son to talk about this?"

"We're not in love anymore," she responds. He swears her voice wavers slightly as she says it, he swears it does. "There's no fixing that."

"You don't love me anymore?" He asks, grabbing her hand. "Truly?"

She stares back at him for a few beats before drawing her hand away. "I think I don't know you as well as I thought I did," she says just above a whisper. "I thought we were going to be honest with each other, if I can't have anything else, I  _ need  _ to be able to trust you, Robin, and—"

"I'm being entirely honest with you."

"If you were, you'd call this what it is. Look, if you want to get back together for Roland's sake, I'm going to tell you, it won't work. We'll end up delaying the misery a bit, and will end up more bitter and resentful of one another. My parents never divorced, and god, how I wish they did. I don't want Roland subjected to an unhappy home like I was."

"But maybe we can work past it, and—"

"No, we can't." Regina says, sounding exhausted, eyes filled with tears, "I'm going to look into an attorney to facilitate this divorce process. I gotta go, Robin. Do me a favor and let me speak to Roland before he goes to bed. Goodnight."

In some ways, it's better after that, and in some ways it's worse. She takes his phone calls, though she shuts down the second Robin suggests they speak about counselling or reconciling. She calls after meeting with a divorce attorney, and tells Robin about the one year rule.

"If we didn't have Roland, they'd actually let us get a divorce right away," she explains, "but the rule that passed last year still makes you wait a year when minor children are involved." She puffs out an exasperated sigh, frustrated with the process. "So I guess we just have to wait."

He's grateful for the rule. It's granted him some time, at least, time to win her back and get her to stop.

Sometimes he thinks he's made headway. Some nights, after Roland is in bed, he will text her and thank her for being a wonderful mother. And she'll respond in kind, telling him he's a wonderful father. Sometimes she'll let him into some mundane detail, tell him she's picking up more berries at the store since Roland blew through them.

One day she asks to switch weekends so she can go to Ruby's bachelorette. He agrees, and they trade light jokes about bachelorette parties that make him smile. It's almost as if the old Regina is back. That night, while she's out, he takes a chance and texts her some cute thing that Roland said, and Regina responds  _ playfully. _ Then she tells him what she's wearing, and he knows she's probably only so bold because she's been drinking, but he tells her how much he loved that dress and the night she wore it and came back to  _ him _ .

She doesn't answer. And the next day when he asks how she's feeling all she responds with is  _ Fine. I'm sorry if I said anything inappropriate last night. _

When he assures her she has not, and that he loves hearing from her, she thanks him for being understanding, and he thinks he has a shot to get her back.

But Regina never weakens on her stance that a divorce is necessary.

The behavior confuses him, and Robin asks his sisters if Regina found someone, if that's the reason for her refusal to work on things. But Emma is absolutely emphatic that she's found no one, and there's no way she could keep that from Emma.

He feels lost.

He attends that damned support group with Marian. He doesn't particularly want to go, but she urged him, and he feels obligated to go through this with her, especially after what happened on New Year's Eve. So he shows up. For the first few months, he counts the minutes til the meeting is over and leaves, never saying a word.

But then his heartache seems too miserable to keep to himself. And he doesn't want to talk to his sisters about Regina, he hasn't wanted to since the moment he woke up with Marian and realized he had let his anger and temper ruin the best thing he ever had. He's not angry at her anymore (only at himself), and he knows Regina needs Emma and Mary Margaret more than he does (and more than he deserves anyway).

So two months into meetings, he starts talking about his grief, about his loss, and about the wife he loves so much.

He hates to admit it, but the support group helps. Most people in the group are like Marian, trying to extricate themselves from a toxic relationship. But one other woman, a blonde who goes by Connie, she and Robin, well, they are trying to get over what they thought was a perfect relationship. A relationship that never hurt either one of them, that only helped them.

"He fell in love with someone else," Connie admits to the group. "He cried when he told me. Said he didn't mean for it to happen. He's not even sure if she feels the same way, but he wants to pursue something with her, and he can't be untrue to me if he has feelings for her." She scowls. "I want to hate him, but he did everything right, he was honest, he was open, he was remorseful…"

"He probably was already fucking her," a bitter divorcee quips, "don't believe him. He's a pig."

"He's not." Connie says, eyes glaring at the woman. "He just changed the way he felt. He just stopped loving me. It happens every day."

Robin shares then, shares his story of Regina for the first time since his anger truly left. It's freeing, being able to talk about their fight, unashamedly admitting how stupid he was, and how it escalated.

"She just stopped loving me," he says, turning to Connie. "It does happen every day."

So it helps to talk to the group, and to talk to Marian. And he realizes things about himself. He has a temper. He's stubborn. He's proud. These are things he needs to work on. Things he needs to change. He's broken from a bad childhood, and though he hides it, he's got a deep-seated fear of becoming his father.

He wishes he realized all of this sooner, when he actually could have saved his marriage.

The one thing the group is supposed to do that doesn't work on him is attempting to disenchant him on Regina. They can point out her flaws and mistakes, and it's as if they are listing every reason he loves her.

He's never going to get over her.

Killian offers to get him laid. John offers stiff drinks and concert tickets. Nothing seems to help him stop hurting, except his son.

And that's something. Throughout these miserable months, the two of them have managed to keep the boy happy. Hell, they've finished potty training him completely despite the separation. Roland's blissfully unaware of his father's pain, and too young to understand why his father and mother do not live together.

For all the wrong they've done to one another, at least they did something right with Roland.

.::.

Regina calls him on a warm afternoon on the last week of May.

"I'm just reminding you that Mrs. Lucas is going on her vacation the week of the Fourth of July," she says, "I uh, I was able to get our deposit back on the beach house we were looking at for that week. So Roland has no daycare. What do you want to do with him that week?" Regina asks tentatively. It's clear she has a plan, but is afraid to say it.

"I already took the week off work," Robin says quickly, "I'd be happy to take him. I feel like I barely get to see him."

"I took the week off, too," Regina sighs, "and I was thinking the same thing."

"We could split the week?" Robin asks, "I mean, we already split the week, but this time, no daycare. I'll take him for Monday Tuesday and Wednesday morning, you take him Wednesday afternoon through Friday?"

"I kind of wanted him for the Fourth of July. You know, to see the fireworks. And we're close enough to downtown. I know it gets crazy there, but I was thinking he's old enough to be there for just a little while, don't you think?"

"Yes," Robin says, and then he presses his luck, "but he can be a handful. And who knows how he'll react to fireworks this year. Maybe we could make this a joint activity?" there's an awkward pause and he adds "That way neither of us would have to miss out on the fun."

And frankly, Independence Day should be Robin's holiday with Roland, so he's being generous. She had Christmas, for fuck's sake. They split Easter, but she ended up having him on Memorial Day for the whole long weekend, Robin is surely due Roland on the Fourth.

"That sounds… fun," she gives.

It doesn't sound fun, it sounds awkward, and frankly, a little terrifying. As ridiculous as it is, he hasn't seen her since Easter, and that was only for about a half hour. Now he suddenly has an entire day with her.

For the next month, he alternates between fear and anticipation at the thought of spending a whole day as a makeshift family.

.::.

"Come on, Roland. We are going to meet momma soon. You have to get dressed. You like this shirt, remember?"

Roland is now a picky three and a half year old who, on some days, has an opinion on everything. Today he has decided he very much wants to be naked.

It takes convincing, but some superhero underwear does the trick, a pair of dark blue cotton shorts, and a white tee shirt with a flag printed on it. He puts sandals on his feet (it's not as god awful hot as it can be on the fourth - in fact, it's overcast and looks like it may very well rain- but it's still muggy and miserable out) and they head out. It's a bit later than he would have liked.

"Momma is going to spend the day with us!" Roland exclaims excitedly. "All of us together!"

"Yes," Robin says, ignoring the punch to his gut at hearing how excited Roland is over the simple act of being together as a family.

There's a knock at the door then, when he goes to answer it, his mouth goes dry. It's his wife, wearing bright red lipstick and a beautiful red sundress with a thin white belt, dark blue heeled sandals finishing the patriotic outfit. Everytime he sees her, it's like rediscovering how beautiful she is all over again, wind knocked out him, unable to think about anything else.

She's saying something now at the other end of the door, sounds a bit frantic, and he realizes he better damn well pay attention.

"...and of course Metro is jam packed," she puffs, "trains and buses. I thought since it may rain… what?"

"What?" he asks, perplexed.

"You haven't even invited me in yet, for one, and secondly, why are you looking at me that way?"

It's been so long she doesn't even recognize what he looks like when he's devouring her with his eyes. Knowing that should be a relief, it'd make everything awkward, but for some reason, it's another stab to the heart.

"Sorry, come in," he breathes, "Roland had a bit of a morning, I think he tired me out."

She eyes him skeptically now, and it must dawn on her, where she's seen his look before, because her face changes to one of recognition, and she raises an eyebrow and nods suspiciously. "Blaming Roland, I see…"

"I can't very well blame the designer of your dress. I've no idea who it is." he counters with a wink.

She flushes, he doesn't miss how pleased she looks at the confession. "Let's get Roland and go, then."

.::.

Independence Day is magic. They opt for the Georgetown park, and it's crowded as every other location is this Independence Day, but there's a fountain for Roland to run through, and a place for them to have a picnic and see the fireworks.

It's heaven. Because for months he's missed Regina desperately. He's seen flashes of her, spoken to her semi-regularly, but not about anything serious.

And for the day he has her and Roland together. And they are getting on quite well, all things considered. Roland is running through the fountain in the park, and he and Regina are sharing a blanket while they watch him.

They are both touchy-feely people, always have been, so maybe it's muscle memory, being so close in a park where they've spent time just relaxing and people watching. He's not sure who starts it, but he becomes conscious of her hand on his thigh, rubbing gently as they trade early memories of their son. The are eating sandwiches with crusty baguettes, and she's rubbing stray crumbs out of the scruff of his beard, smiling brightly as she does, and Christ, she's beautiful. So bloody beautiful, did he tell her that enough?

Over the years he had become used to seeing her so much that he took it for granted. But now he's been robbed of her face for so long - especially of her smile. Even when they see each other, she doesn't smile anymore, barely looks at him. But god, she's looking at him today the exact way she used to before this damn nightmare, and fuck, nothing on earth compares to the feeling of having her look at him with love in her eyes. And it is what she is doing now, he knows it.

She leans back on her elbows so she's nearly lying down, propped up in a way that must twinge her neck. She groans a bit when she moves her head forward, and then sits back up, rubbing her neck tenderly.

"Bad idea," she smiles sheepishly. "I did something to my neck."

Shit. He wonders how bad it is. Regina's pain tolerance has always been absurdly high, for her to complain about anything at all...

"You okay?"

He must look as worried as he feels, because she raises her eyebrows at him adoringly.

She laughs at his concern, shaking her head slowly and putting a reassuring hand on his thigh. "Nothing serious, Robin. I was just moving furniture, then I did some grocery shopping and had to carry everything for a few blocks and—"

He frowns. "Someone blocked the exit to our driveway again?"

She smiles sweetly before shaking her head. "Yes, sorry I wasn't  _ trying  _ to bring it up, I just—"

"No, I know you weren't." He assures. God, she's being so sweet about this. He wants to kiss every inch of her between murmured apologies and tell her he will move to fucking Mars if he gets to keep her.

"Has this become a more regular thing, double parking like this? Do I need to maybe… get some cones? Make it more obvious? Paint the curb?"

Regina snorts and shakes her head. She squeezes his hand. "It's okay, it is the first time it's happened since Thanksgiving."

There's a lump in this throat as he finally says the words he's tried not to say. "I'm sorry for that day, Regina, I really am. It got away from me and…"

Her demeanor shifts, and it's like she closes up and shuts down, body tilting ever so much apart from him. "I don't want to talk about it," she breathes, "can we just... Roland is here, and—"

"I'm not trying to pick a fight I'm trying to apologize!" he defends, because he's not breaking her rule about fighting near Roland, he truly isn't.

"I know. It's just that it could get... tense." And it's then that he realizes how truly  _ hurt  _ she is. Or maybe she's still  _ angry? _

He can't read her, which is so unusual for him, they usually fit together so well. She is rubbing her neck with one hand, her eyes closed while her other hand is still on his thigh (and that's good, very good, he hasn't lost her entirely).

He looks at her, searching for a way to offer her some comfort, to tell her how he feels without making her nervous. "Are you going to let me rub that out?" he asks, before thinking of how it sounds.

It works, the unintended innuendo, makes her giggle and and look at him in that mischievous way as she gives his thigh a playful squeeze.

"Your neck, I mean," he says with a laugh, before adding a drawn out, "Although…."

She snorts again shaking her head, then frowns. "I…" she looks at him for a second and then smiles broadly. "Actually that sounds amazing, if you don't mind."

He gives her that side eyed look that says _ Don't be ridiculous _ .

"I will never mind this," he promises, touching her neck and soothing it a bit before urging her to move closer to him. He tries to say it dismissively, but there's meaning behind it, and he feels her tense a little. So then he adds, "I like rubbing your neck and back. I've got restless hands, they like to have something to do."

She sighs and nods, before moving closer to him, pressing her hip against his thigh and leaning forward, presenting herself to him.

Well, fuck. The dress has a low back, and it's a lot of skin. It's hot as all get out and her skin is glowing with what may be called sweat if it were someone else, but on her it is like a glistening dew, somehow makes her look  _ more  _ fresh and beautiful. And he wants to fuck her from behind. Right here, right like this, in the middle of this park.

Then his son squeals from the play fountain and he remembers that no, that's not on the menu.

"Mmm, god right there." She groans, it's throaty and a bit indulgent and  _ fuck _ .

He works on the kinks of her neck and tries not to get too aroused at the way she moans and shivers under his touch. It's difficult, but it is a family event, so he manages to keep his thoughts from wandering when he hears those heady moans, takes in the sweet smell of perfume and deodorant and _ Regina _ , touches the smooth, soft, slightly damp skin.

"That's so much better, thank you," she says in that breathy little sigh.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and she tilts her head against his hand as she used to. It's wonderful, having her close like this, being able to touch her like this. The rest of the world seems to melt away, all their problems, all that distance, everyone else in the bloody world. It's just them now, in this moment, his beautiful wife and his perfect son.

He runs fingers down and up her back lightly, the way she likes after a good back rub, and then pulls back her hair and presses a kiss into that spot where the back of her neck meets the middle of her back before soothing a fingertip over it and giving her a final soft pat.

It's a ritual, one not so easily forgotten. By either of them, it appears. She turns gingerly to face him, eyes hooded, looking pleasured in a serene sort of way. His eyes drop to her breasts (what else is new?) and... there is the cleavage, of course, which is nice enough on its own, but the hardened, stiff peaks, visible through the cotton of her dress draw him in.

He knows her body well enough to know what  _ that  _ means. His mouth goes dry, breathing goes a bit heavy, and he tries to tear his eyes away, he really does….

But she's turned on, probably wet and needy between her thighs, and it's been so long, yet he can still feel her tangy wetness…

Regina's tongue peeks out to wet her lips, and his eyes follow the motion. That seems to startle her, has her eyes going wide with recognition as to what  _ this  _ is. He thinks back on the moment, wondering what action in particular went too far, and then he remembers the little kiss on her back.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. And then, "Old habits…"

She shakes her head with a smile, "Yeah, I know the feeling. Me too."

And then she's nervously adjusting herself, smoothing back hair and scooting away so she's shoulder to shoulder with him.

She grabs a package of strawberries, and shoves a pre-cut piece to his lips. It's a quick action, out of nowhere, and seems… forced. A bit of a nervous movement. But he opens his mouth to accept the piece of fruit anyway. He licks the tip of her thumb (not on purpose, but he'd be lying if he tried too terribly hard to prevent this), and takes the entire piece in his mouth, smiling when the tart, sweet goodness explodes on his tongue. He chews and smiles at her, amused at the action.

"Thank you."

"Mhm, I was just trying to shut you up before you said something you regretted."

It's a joke though, he can see it in that little sparkle in her eye, that little half smile she tries to hide.

Roland squeals and runs towards them both, collapsing his soaked body between them.

"Roland, be careful, you're getting your mum wet."

But Roland is in a relatively bratty stage, so he only smiles devilishly and throws his arms around his mother.

"Hey!" Regina screams. She pretends to be offended but she can't really pull it off. Can never pull it off when their son is clinging to her.

When Roland pulls away her dress is decorated with a damp, wet splotch.

"Ugh, it's fine. I needed to cool off anyway," Regina mutters as she grabs Roland a towel.

Robin nearly chokes on his fruit.

The rest of the day goes just perfectly. The food keeps well, and Roland is treated to far too many sweets, but the picnic is still a success. Robin has smuggled in some alcohol that they discreetly share, just a bit of sparkling wine with two plastic flutes he managed to place into the picnic basket. Regina, to his surprise, takes the risk and pours quickly, before hiding the open bottle underneath a spare blanket.

By the time the fireworks have ended, Roland is passed out on both of them, his head on Robin's thigh, feet dangling off Regina's lap. It looks like the most uncomfortable position ever, but Roland has a habit of being a bit of a contortionist in his sleep anyway.

"You should take him for the night," she whispers, "it'll be easier."

"You can spend the night too!" he offers quickly. "It's...I don't want you walking home by yourself tonight."

"No I'll be fine, I don't have a change of clothes and I am not really sure who has been on that couch of Killian's. Plus... you know, no sleeping under the same roof." She scrunches her face up in this adorable pensive snarl and then adds "but... maybe… um, would it be… do you think we could have dinner tomorrow?"

Robin smiles broadly and nods immediately.

"If you're not busy," she says quickly, "I wouldn't want to impose, it's just, Roland seemed excited that we were both around, and well, we both have to eat, and—"

"I really, really, really, want to have dinner with you, Regina." He pours as much emotion as he can into the words, because she has no idea how badly he wants to have dinner with her now until forever.

"I feel like I don't get to see him, you know? With work and splitting custody, the idea of seeing him everyday for a week... it's…"

_ Every day this week. _

"We both have off. Every day. We can see him every day. I'll let you come over and have dinner with me, if you let me do the same when it's your turn."

She frowns and looks skeptical. "Is that a good idea?"

"Why not? We're raising a child together, a week's worth of meals isn't inappropriate, wouldn't you say? And I really want to spend time with you, Regina. I miss you, you know."

"You don't have dinner plans this week?"

He eyes her suspiciously. What dinner plans would he even have? What on god's green earth would be more important than having dinner with  _ her? _

"I mean Killian and I usually split a pizza and a sixpack on Wednesdays but…"

She rolls her eyes and stiffens, face screwing into a scowl. Something is wrong. And then he wonders if she has plans of her own

"Are you— do  _ you _ have plans this week?" he asks, trying desperately not to sound accusatory or heartbroken, despite feeling both.

"Not-not exactly," she says, and something in him cracks in two. He knows what that means.

She's with someone.

"Well, I mean if you have plans, we can—-"

"No, no, that's not what I meant." She huffs out a frustrated breath of air. "Forget it."

"Alright," he says softly, reaching for her hand. She tenses, but doesn't pull away. Good. He doesn't want to fight. Not today. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I just— I have the week off, and I want to see Roland as much as possible, and maybe I pushed too hard, but—"

"No, no I'm sorry," she says, squeezing his hand back. "I don't know how to do this, with you."

It guts him, hearing her sound so uncomfortable around him. He hates this, hates what his life has become. The woman he loves more than anything can't even be around him. And yet…

"We did alright today," he notes, "until just now…"

Her face brightens and she gives him one of those sparkling smiles that takes his breath away. "Today was great." She pauses and then adds, "Maybe because we didn't talk about anything… 'us' related? Maybe, we can spend time together this week without any discussion of... that? I don't want to fight about counselors or divorce or new people in our lives, I just want a week where we just...are. You know?"

He nods. There's a lump in his throat, one he can't quite swallow down. She's asking for him to give him a stress free week where he doesn't beg her to let him come home with him. And he's desperate to ask her to do exactly that, to let him move back in and spend his life kissing her ass, her feet, anywhere she'd let him.

But she never lets him finish, she always runs away.

Maybe a week of no pressure, no serious conversation, just  _ them  _ will help her.

Maybe this is what she needs.

"I can do that," he assures, "just casual upbeat conversation. I promise."

"Okay," she smiles back. "Let's get this one home."

"Oh, are you sure you're okay with me taking him? I know—"

"You keep him for the night, I'm sure. I'll help you tuck him in."

.::.

Waking Roland from a sugar-induced coma on a crowded day is never fun. He whines and protests as they put him in his stroller (thank god they brought it, he's 3 ½, but lord is it ever easier to strap him in than try to walk with a toddler).

It's times like these where they get along best, Robin thinks. They co-parent well. Divide themselves between tasks to get Roland ready and keep him occupied while the other packs everything together. They are very in sync. They've always been, but it's nice to know they haven't lost it.

"Bus or walk?" Robin asks. It's about a mile, not too long. There's a bus, but today is so god awful crowded that walking would probably be faster. He looks down to her feet, and she's wearing heels. Probably has those foldable flats in her purse, but still... walking is her call.

Then he thinks about her choice of shoes, and that tantalizing dress. Did she wear those for him? If not him, who else? She could have worn practical flip flops and a less… unbelievably sexy outfit, but…

"Let's walk, my feet are fine," she says, with a smug smile that says  _ I can read your mind _ . But she can't, not truly, or she'd be smacking him right now.

.::.

They arrive at Killian's apartment, and she stays for bath and bedtime. It's a nice ritual, one he's sorely missed. Regina seems pleased that Robin has bought all the identical toiletries that Roland has back home, and has done his best to buy similar bath toys. Roland is overtired, smelly and filthy, but it somehow makes him even cuter. He's sleep-drunk and giggly, splashing both of them as he enjoys the suds of the bath, gabbing about god knows what, blowing bubbles at his parents.

Regina coaxes their son out of the tub, and then a slippery, sneaky, Roland manages to sidestep the open towel waiting for him, and lunges his naked, soaked body around her, grabbing her in a tight hug.

Regina shrieks, completely not expecting the action, as Roland laughs louder than he ever has before. Where does he learn this stuff? It's cute, a clear repeat of his earlier trick at the fountain, and they should have seen it coming, but...

"Roland!" Robin scolds, "That's not nice. You got mommy's clothes all wet."

Regina is usually the disciplinarian, and he expects her to have words with him, but instead she's stifling a laugh over Roland's shoulder, arms wrapped around him tight.

"Roland, baby, you can't do that. It's not nice." Regina attempts to keep her voice stern, but it doesn't quite come out that way. Roland giggles in response, but manages a  _ Sorry, mommy! _

She grits her teeth and looks back and Robin with a smile that disarms him. Hmm.

And then she wraps Roland in his hooded panda towel and and takes him to the bedroom.

.::.

They read  _ Where The Wild Things Are _ , and it's sweet — intimate and domestic, tucking in their son and taking turns reading, while Robin wraps a towel around Regina's wet body. She sits on his lap so as not to get the bed wet (her dress is soaked from Roland, he can't imagine it is comfortable for her, because of course, it's not particularly comfortable for  _ him, _ as her wet dress soaks the jeans that cover his lap, but he won't ever protest her on him, not ever).

When the book is over (too soon, everything tonight is over too soon), they kiss him goodnight and leave the room, trading smiles as they go.

She walks back into the bathroom, looking at herself in the full length mirror. Her dress is still soaked, dark, deep maroon splotches covering a vast portion of the bright red fabric.

"Well, my trip home should be pleasant," she mutters, and Robin chuckles.

"Got something for ya."

He's holding a tee shirt and sweats for her. Not just any tee shirt,  _ her  _ tee shirt. The David Bowie one, the Aladdin Sane one. She loves that shirt. He knows it was a low blow to take it with him that first night when he was packing. She used to wear it when she missed him, she'd call and tell him that, even during business trips she'd wear it to bed and snuggle into it.

And now he has an opportunity to give it back to her, without a big fuss.

She looks truly touched. She eyes the clothes for while, as if she's unsure whether or not she should accept the small offer of kindness.

Her expression softens and she takes the clothes. "Could you unzip me me?" she asks, turning to him.

He fiddles with the zipper of the dress, drawing it down slowly, revelling in every inch of flesh that's revealed.

"Thank you," she says when he reaches the bottom, right when he can see the top of the mint green lace panties she's wearing underneath. Fuck, he wants her.

She starts walking towards the bathroom, and then stops. He laughs, realizing Roland had splashed out half the tub when he left. Everything is still wet. He needs to take a mop to it.

If she goes in there she's going to get all her clothes wet.

She turns to his bedroom, and freezes.

Can't change in there. Roland has only just gone down, and she will disturb him.

She sighs and turns to him, raising an eyebrow when he cannot help but give her a knowing smirk.

"Turn around," she sighs, "I'm going to have to change in here quick. Before Killian gets home, too."

"Eh, he won't be back before 1 AM," Robin reminds her, "he's out on a boat sailing around the Potomac. You've nothing to worry about there."

""Turn around," she repeats, "I still have to worry about  _ you _ ."

But it's  _ flirtatious  _ and cute, and so he plays along, pointing to himself in mock offense. " _ Me?!  _ Whatever would you have to worry about?" He pauses and then adds, "It's not like I haven't seen you naked a couple of thousand times anyway. If I turn around I'll just be picturing you naked with crystal clear accuracy, right in my head." He points to his temple for effect.

"So you're saying, either way, you're seeing me naked," Regina says, with a coy smile.

"Well, no, I assume you'll keep your underwear on in reality. But of course, in my fantasy…."

She offers him a smug little smile, and then she's peeling off that sinful dress, right in front of him. She's wearing a tiny scrap of... silk, perhaps up top, trimmed with the same color lace as her panties. It's got some floral design he doesn't care about, it looks water painted and faded but what he's drawn to is the fabric is completely see-through. And that makes it  _ gorgeous _ , because he can see hardened nipples through them, all dark pink and bold and on display for him.

"Fuck," he says, as she toes out of her heels.

She raises her eyebrows. "I thought you've seen me naked enough to picture me with crystal clear accuracy," she chides, as she grabs his cotton drawstring pants and steps into them.

"Mm, when I picture you naked in my head I have the same reaction," he assures, biting his lip to try to tamp down his smile. He likes how she looks now, all cute and sensual. She's putting on her clothes  _ slowly, _ nothing a normal person would notice, but he knows her very well, and she's drawing it out, and what's even better than seeing her exposed flesh for even longer is knowing she's drawing it out for  _ him. _

She takes those flats out of her purse, the little rollup ones she always insisted on bringing "just in case".

"I'll, uhh, leave these here," she says, pointing at the clunky sandals. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he says, unable to stop the wide smile that rolls across his face. "See you then."

She nods, thanks him for a perfect holiday, and gives him a warm hug goodbye.

He's drunk on the emotions of the entire day, still a bit worked up after a shower and a good wank (he could say it's just to help him sleep, but the images of her, wet and in sexy lingerie, are etched in his mind, and hell, even before that, she was tempting him in the worst way). That's how starved he's been for her, one day with her and he's turned into a bloody schoolboy.

.::.

The rest of the week is a precious gift. Regina comes over, and he comes over to hers. They have dinner, bathe Roland (he needs a daily bath on summer days, as tends to put all his energy into running, rolling in the grass and dirty and whatever sprinkler her can find) and tuck him in.

And then there's the flirting. He can't talk about  _ them,  _ she's asked him not to do that this week, but damnit, they still have chemistry.

On Tuesday she teases him for being a poor cook, but he surprises her with a more-than-edible meal. It's just seasoned chicken breasts, broccoli, and potatoes, but she  _ mmm- _ s and  _ ahh _ s and acts as if he made some culinary treasure.

"I'm impressed," she says sincerely, rubbing his arm. They are tidying up the kitchen after putting Roland to bed. It's not Regina's kitchen (it's not even  _ Robins,  _ this is  _ Killian's  _ for fuck's sake), but it's respectable, and he likes to keep it neat.

"I've learned a lot over these past few months," he draws, smiling at her adoringly.

And she looks gorgeous, wearing these little white shorts that he loves, that hug her ass and show off her legs. She's wearing a black tank top that scoops low enough to see the top of her tits... God he's hard up, this is just a normal everyday outfit and he is fucking awestruck.

"You look nice tonight," he cannot help but say in the middle of their banter about Mary Margaret and her latest drama (they always enjoyed teasing her, they both love her very much, though, he can tell, Regina loves her  _ very  _ much).

Regina's cheeks pinken ever so slightly, and she drops her eyes to the floor for a second before she says, "Thank you. I... played tourist this afternoon. Took a walk around the tidal basin."

"You should have called," he urges, "we would have met you."

She shakes her head. "I just… I wanted some time to myself. To think, to just... relax." She pauses and frowns. "Is that selfish?" she fiddles with a lock of hair nervously, as if she's expecting him to agree with that silly voice inside her head.

"No, it's not selfish. You're a wonderful mother, and a great employee, and you have some time off and need time to yourself. I'm glad you got it." He smoothes a hand over her shoulder before he can think better of it. But she leans into the touch, so maybe he should stop overthinking it, after all. "This week, doing this… it was a great idea."

She nods her head, surprising the hell out of him when she wraps arms around his waist and pulls him into a hug. "I needed this week," she sighs into his chest, "and thanks for saying I'm a good mom. You are a great father. Roland's very lucky."

He hums his agreement into her hair. And he thinks he has her, at that moment, but when he asks if she'd like to watch a bit of TV with him, she shakes her head and says she has to be going home.

On Wednesday, he brings Roland over to the house - the house that is still  _ theirs  _ but is really just  _ hers  _ now. Things feel different, but the same. She asked if he could bring him over around 4, a bit early for a normal drop off, but this time he is  _ staying  _ until Roland sleeps, so it's perfect. He expects to find her dressed down, soft and relaxed. He's wrong.

He knocks at his door (it feels so weird, but it's about respecting her space, after all). She answers it in a second, assuring him with a  _ You don't have to do that _ that has him smiling broadly.

But then he takes her in, and he's unsure what to do or say or how to act, because  _ fuck. _

She's wearing this dress… and it's not showing any more skin than the one she wore on the Fourth of July, but god, there's a generous showing of leg, and then there's this zipper that wraps around her body, from that slit on her leg, around her back, to her waist, and it's… He wants to draw it down with his teeth, work his way between those thighs and eat at her until she screams for him.

And this is a terrible thought to have in front of your son.

"Hi, mommy!" Roland squeals, falling into his mother's arms.

She smiles and cuddles him, but her eyes are still on Robin. She looks... amused.

She knows what he's thinking.

"Come on in," she says to him, chuckling as she stands up on heeled feet, her son in her arms.

He follows her, enchanted, watching her ass the entire way from the door to the living room.

"Daddy, look, I made castle!" Roland points out the little lego table they have set up for him, where he can build whatever he wants to.

"I see that!" Robin says, prying his eyes away from his wife (still his wife, that's still true, and he's never been more glad for that) to glance at the castle.

"I'm going to make it even bigger! But don't look until I say so! I want it to be a surprise!"

"Okay," Robin says. He will have no problem focusing his eyes on  _ other things _ in the meantime. He turns to Regina and smiles sheepishly.

"You're staring," Regina whispers. Maybe it's meant to be a chastising comment, but she looks far too amused to come across that way.

"I'm merely following our son's orders and looking away as he completes his masterpiece," he says, lips curving into a smile that's big enough to hurt his cheeks.

She laughs and turns away, walking to the kitchen, asking  _ Do you want something to drink?  _ He answers that he does, and follows her.

"I haven't made anything for dinner," she starts as she takes out two glasses, "I was thinking if Roland were up for it, we could catch a matinee and pick up takeout? Or we could go to the park, Roland is getting better at the jungle gym, he—"

"You look beautiful today," Robin interrupts, because he's  _ trying  _ to listen but the dress is distracting. And her makeup is well done, lips are painted this shade of red he quite likes on her, and damn, how is he supposed to pay attention?

"Thanks... I…" she smoothes invisible wrinkles out of the skirt of her dress, "I, uh, went out to lunch with Emma and Ruby."

He thinks about asking Emma if she really saw Regina today, because she looks dressed for a date, not a lunch. But he won't involve them in it anymore. And besides, using his sister as an alibi seems unlikely. Unless she's hoping to get caught.

He doesn't get to be upset about her potentially moving on, anyway. He needs to let it go.

"Speaking of that," he says, taking a moment to eye her up and down, "you don't really seem dressed for the park. And you know, we just had a busy day outside. Went on a hike in Rock Creek park, played a little footie… maybe we can have a night in. Order some movie, get something delivered?"

"Or I could change…" she offers, but he shakes his head no a bit too vigorously.

"Don't you dare." He directs. The sternness in his voice makes her bubble into laughter, shaking her head softly.

"Alright. A night in."

.::.

It's playdoh and legos and coloring books with Roland, at first. Robin can tell he enjoys the extra attention of both parents doting over him, and he feels the deep longing again for his family. But he reminds himself they wouldn't have many days like these, anyway. Most days they'd be working, and rushing to pick him up from daycare and make a meal before bedtime. They wouldn't have time to make playdoh spaghetti, he wouldn't have time to watch Regina delicately color in a sketch of Lilo and Stitch...

Regina takes nearly everything she does seriously, and coloring is no exception. She eyes her work critically, fiddling with crayons to get the right color, blending and shading (can you even  _ shade  _ with a crayon?)... The tip of her tongue peeks out as she eyes her work critically, and it's unspeakably adorable. And yet she finds time to compliment Roland, to let him look over her shoulder and  _ ooh  _ and  _ ahh  _ over her masterpiece.

"Yours is messy, daddy," Roland says, as he eyes Robin's work with a face that can only be described as  _ unimpressed. _ Robin, of course, has been purposefully coloring sloppy, hoping to attract attention or draw out a smile from Regina, but he will settle for this, a lecture from his son.

" _ Mine?  _ What about your mother's?" He points at the work of art with mock disdain, "Look, she went outside the lines here!".

"I did  _ not," _ Regina insists.

"Mm, right here," Robin points at an imaginary spot on the page.

"Where?" Regina looks to inspect it. "I don't see anything."

"Daddy's lying!" Roland declares, glancing at the page. "Daddy, mommy colors  _ pretty." _

"Mmm, indeed she does," Robin says, glancing at her artwork, and then glancing up at Regina to add, "She does  _ everything  _ pretty."

She blushes, god damn it, she does, and it's beautiful. He can't talk about them, about anything heavy, but maybe he's making progress. Maybe  _ this  _ is working.

They bounce off easily on one another, trading gentle jokes and subtly flirting over their son. It  _ is  _ flirting, the way she strokes his arm when she talks, the way his hands draw circles on her back as he pretends to be deeply interested in whatever new work of art Roland has put in front of the both of them.

Then they let Roland pick the entertainment for the night. He goes with the Lego Movie (again). It's a snarky film, cute, but they've watched it so many times that Robin could probably reenact the whole thing. He and Regina trade looks as they mouth lines they have ingrained in their memories.

Robin, the mature man he is, occupies himself by flinging popcorn kernels at her from across the couch, aiming at her temples, her cheeks, her breasts. She scowls prettily as he hits her, throwing them back at him in mock offense. Roland turns and catches their antics, finds it hilarious, but reminds them of the rule against food fights (a rule they both recited him, more than once).

"Sorry Roland, your father is  _ very  _ ill-behaved today," Regina says, raising an eyebrow at Robin.

"You should punish me," he responds before he can think better if it, eyes lustful and heated, too focused on how ungodly sexy she is to realize how... inappropriate he's being.

But before he can take the words back, Regina is smiling at him in  _ that  _ way.

"You couldn't handle it," she says in this sexy, throaty, whispered growl that sets him on fire, has his body humming and his mind whirling with thoughts he shouldn't have, not with Roland here.

"Careful," he says, looking down at their son, who is currently sprawled out on the floor, lying on his belly, elbows propping up his head, seemingly oblivious to what they are saying, thank god.

"I'm just stating facts," she whispers back, "nothing I wouldn't say in front of Roland… maybe you should get your mind out of the gutter."

He huffs his response with a roll of his eyes, to make it clear he's not buying what she's selling. She meant that comment to sound ungodly sexy, and it worked.

And from the proud little smile on her face, she knows she's won.

.::.

They bathe Roland and put him to bed. Robin draws the bath towards the end of the movie, and insists on taking control of the whole affair since Regina is in  _ that  _ dress. She still chats with them both from the doorway of the bathroom as Roland washes up and plays. Roland manages to splash Robin more than a few times, leaving him a bit wet, but it's nothing too terrible.

Bedtime goes without a hitch, except when they finish reading Cat and the Hat, Roland mentions he likes when they do the voices  _ together  _ the most.

The sting that comes with wondering when or if they will get to say goodnight together again Roland stays with him until they turn out his light.

He heads down the stairs with a weary sigh, but Regina lingers. She comes down with some clothes he must have left when he moved out. An old pair of jeans and a green tee shirt he loved and actually looked for, had assumed was lost.

"If you wanted to change," she explains softly.

He laughs. "I'm fine, already drying off, but thank you for the offer.

"You could take these," she offers, but he shakes his head.

"Keep it. I may need them tomorrow or Friday."

That answer seems to make her happy, has her nodding as she turns towards the kitchen.

"Want to help me finish that bottle of wine?" she asks, pointing over to the half empty bottle from dinner.

Oh, it's less than half empty. It's less than two glasses left, she could easily finish it off herself. But she wants him to  _ stay.  _ So he nods, and takes two glasses out of the cupboard and pours for her while she makes her way to the couch and pops on the TV.

He takes her her glass of wine and places it on the coffee table, trying not to gawk at the high slit in her dress.

"So," he says, turning to her, unable to hide that cheesy grin from spreading over his face, "What are we watching?"

She shrugs her shoulders, and grabs the remote, bored. "Netflix?" she asks, "I never watched House of Cards..."

"Me either," Robin says with a smile, "And I'd love to. Queue it up. Did you hear Will may be an extra on the show? Assuming his scene didn't get cut."

"Knowing Will he probably botched the entire scene," Regina groans, fiddling with the remote until the series starts to play. "Do you remember when he made us watch that episode of The Wire, and hosted that party for it, and then they cut his scene?"

"Oh, god, that was depressing," Robin says, laughing loudly for a second, then silencing himself when he realizes he might be waking their son. "You were so good to him, though, when he was drunk and crying…"

Regina laughs lightly, crosses her legs and turns to him, with a sarcastic, "Mmm, I'm a comforting soul."

"You are," he agrees. Regina laughs as if it is a joke, but it's not. He knows she doesn't see herself as soft, or nurturing. There's too much in her childhood, too much in her past that has her seeing herself as her mother's child, cold and manipulative. She has those moments, sure, but that's not who she is. She's warm, and giving.

"Stop trying to butter me up," Regina scowls. But she's touched, he knows she is.

"I wasn't, that was before, when I was throwing popcorn at you."

She snorts and rolls her eyes. "God you're corny."

"Again, that was before, with the pop—"

She stretches out a foot to kick him playfully, and it should be cute, except she's in  _ that  _ dress, and the action has it hiking up her thighs even more. His eyes are drawn to it, and he's staring so intently he forgets to react to her kick at all.

When he is able to tear his eyes from her legs, he meets her eyes to find her looking... curious. Not offended by his wandering eyes, but not entirely egging him on.

"You've been in heels all day, I bet you'd like a foot rub," he offers, grabbing her feet and sliding them over his lap.

She sighs a little  _ Thank you _ and places her feet on his lap, frowning a bit.

"Your jeans are wet. Why don't you change?"

"Trying to turn the tables and get me to strip in front of you?" Robin asks, "I see, I'm on to you."

She giggles — giggles, god damn it, and then adds a serious, "I just thought you'd be more comfortable."

Robin hums a reply. "I've lost a little weight…" he starts, "I'm not so sure those pants would fit without a belt.

She frowns a bit, eyeing him. "You do look thinner…" she says.

"I miss your cooking," he sighs, grabbing her feet in and urging them back on his lap. "And your baking." He starts to rub her feet softly.

"Thought you'd have gained weight, all that pizza and beer with Killian —  _ oh, that feels good _ !" she groans a little, and he feels his cock twitch as he can't help but turn his gaze to her, sprawled out, arching herself into his touch. Christ, she's sexy.

He tries to focus on her words, to keep up with the conversation.

"Those pants are old, around the time Roland was born, when we ordered in all the time. And now... while we do have a pizza night, I must say there are a lack of baked goods in my life. And I'm walking more, being downtown, and unfortunately hitting the weights a bit less. I lost a little muscle, I think." He draws his thumbs over her arches lightly — too lightly. She squeals a bit and tries to draw back her feet. So sensitive, Regina is. So ticklish. She's so gorgeous when she laughs he really wants to tickle her more. But she wouldn't like that, so he holds her feet in place and switches to firmer strokes.

"You still look good anyway," she sighs, then catches herself, "I mean, you don't look sickly or anything."

He chuckles, can't help but laugh. They are so fucking awkward. He feels like a teenager with a crush he's desperately trying to conceal.

After several minutes, she pulls her feet from his lap and slides over to sit next to him on the couch. Somehow they edge closer and closer to one another until they are shoulder to shoulder. She's flirting back with him. And it's unbelievably hot, what she's wearing and how she's leaning on him.

It takes everything in his power to not make a move on her. She seems... receptive, but he can't risk being wrong. If he somehow destroys her trust and he loses the rest of his time with her… no. So he keeps his hands in check, keeps them in safe places like her arms and back, occasionally moving it to thread through her hair. She's leaning into the touch, letting out little moans and sighs that drive him wild. He's supposed to be watching House of Cards, but he has no idea what happens in any episode. He's too busy stealing glances at her, his mind too consumed with thoughts of her.

When it's time for him to leave, he does everything in his power to deflate his obvious erection, and then gets up quickly from the couch, letting her walk him to the door. She draws him into a hug while they continue to tease each other, trading gentle touches that shouldn't be as sexy as they are.

He thinks about everything when he gets home, and fantasizes about a scenario in which he was brave enough to try for more, to work his hands up her legs during that foot rub. She'd part her thighs for him, let him work his hands up, rubbing and caressing them in a way that always has her writhing and gasping. He'd work that hand up, up, until he could feel the damp fabric between her legs (it's his fantasy, and she'll be as wet as he wants her to be, thank you very much).

He'd touch her through her panties, just fingertips, but she'd open her legs wider, and arch into the touch. And then he'd grab that damned zipper, draw it down, and eat her out, right through her soaking lingerie. He'd eat her until she came just like that, then he'd rip her panties off and eat at her proper, until she begged him to stop, and—

His hand is a poor substitute for her mouth or cunt, but there's no tricking his mind into fulfilling  _ this  _ particular craving. He wants to go down on her so badly it hurts, physically hurts. And the wanting, the desire, is so overwhelming and so frustrating he nearly has to stop himself from fantasizing altogether.

He misses her taste, her scent, the feeling of her on his tongue, the way her thighs tremble around his face when she's close, those little aftershocks after she comes that he  _ lives  _ for, god he misses it all so god damned much.

But for his own sanity, he redirects his thoughts to fucking her, that dress still on but unzipped. Right against the wall in the hallway, hard and fast, and she'd beg for it, beg and scream and moan about how much she wanted it,  _ this, him _ , until she came and came around him, her cunt contracting and spasming that way they do, juices dripping all down him, and—-

He comes hard into his palm as he moans her name, the tension of the day spilling out of him. The release is powerful and satisfying. And yet… hours later, when he's in bed, thoughts go back to her, and he can't resist doing it all over again. He's like an insatiable twenty year old because of her, damnit. Her and that dress and those touches and that smile.

God he loves her.

.::.

The rest of the week fares the same.

On Thursday they take Roland to the Museum of Natural History  _ together,  _ he meets her at a Starbucks right outside the metro, and they walk together like a family. He loves it, and because she's banned all talks about  _ them,  _ it's quite easy to pretend the events of last year never happened.

The rest of the week always ends the same — bedtime for Roland, and more wine and House of Cards. And flirting, more flirting that has him pent up and dying for her by the time he gets home.

She is so sweet, so talkative, so receptive. It's only on Sunday when she seems to withdraw. They are at his house, Roland chit chatting about how Aunt Mary Margaret and Miss Marian are taking him on the duck tour next weekend (she cringed, he does too, it's terribly touristy and they both  _ hate  _ it, vowed to never ride one themselves, but well, Mary Margaret is Mary Margaret, and she had gotten Roland all excited about it).

"You should come along," Robin suggests, trying to fight his amusement from showing so obviously.

Regina scoffs. "Yeah, raincheck on that."

"Oh come on, it would be delightful if we all played tourist. I'll get the comically large maps of the most historic sites if D.C., you can get the—"

"Oh so you're going?"

"Only if  _ you  _ are," he says. She looks a bit hurt, and he feels the need to get her to shake it off. It's just the duck tours god damn it, if it's  _ that  _ upsetting Roland doesn't have to go.

"Would you rather he not go?" he whispers to her, "I'm sorry, it was Mary Margaret's idea. She told Roland before me. We can turn her down, of course… Roland has a short memory—"

"No, no," she waves it off and puts on a wry, weak smile. "No it's fine."

He wonders if part of the awkwardness is her closeness with her sister. And it's something he's made her feel bad about in the past, so he feels the need to say, "You know, Mary Margaret is just as close to you as she is to me, and lord knows she would like to see you more."

Regina smiles thinly, and then asks timidly, "Does it bother you that I spend so much time with your sisters? Not Mary Margaret, so much, but...Emma. She's your sister, and I feel—"

"I love that you spend time with her." Robin says honestly. And maybe that was what had her tense. She does seem to deflate at his words. "She was your friend before I ever met you. She loves you." And to lighten the mood he adds, "Probably more than she loves me."

"That's not true!" Regina replies, as if she's worried about Emma's loyalty. But, no, that's not it. He's glad, truly, that Emma's loyalty lies with her. Not at first, but now, now that he has had time to get over his anger and desire to win whatever fight they ever had that started this whole thing, he thinks it's fitting.

"I'm glad you have each other," he says sincerely. "She would never have me come between you two, and I wouldn't want to. And honestly I like the idea of Roland and Henry growing up close, so I'm glad you have your connection."

She nods silently, but still doesn't make eye contact.

"I was being an asshole before," he presses on. "Right after our fight I know I seemed to act like i had some sort of ownership to Emma, but I don't. She's your sister—"

Regina tries to interrupt, no doubt to argue it's not the same thing, but it is.

"She's your sister, and best friend, and we're still a family. For at least the next fourteen-and-a-half years, right?"

"Yes, we are." She says, with a shy smily.

"I love that you are close with my sisters, Regina. And I love that they are close to you." She's staring at her lap now, instead of him, and he needs her to understand how honest he's being, so he cups her chin in his hand, and lifts it up, up, until she's looking at him. "Truly. I wouldn't have it any other way. Okay?"

She swallow heavy and whispers back her reply, a subtle little  _ okay thanks  _ that has him smiling.

And rest of the evening picks up, and while it's not as smooth as the other nights...well, it's still pretty amazing. He chalks the awkwardness up to it being their last night in this holiday bubble, and thinks nothing more on it.

He should be sad, that last night, to wish her goodbye. But as she leaves him, he feels at peace. She still feels something for him — that is clear. And he lived up to his word and didn't speak a word about them or try to reconcile, but now the week is over, isn't it?

"Passed Regina in the hall," Killian says as he walks in the apartment. "She was here til rather late."

"Yeah," Robin acknowledges. When Killians eyebrows wobble, Robin rushes to explain. "Nothing happened. She just let us spend the rest of the weekend together and we were watching a tv show together."

"Then why do you look like you just got laid?" Killian asks as he walks to the kitchen and grabs a beer.

"Because I know what i'm going to do," Robin says with a smile. "I'm going to get her back."


End file.
